I become captive to her eyes
I see my darkest dreams
Escaping from her

Life's never too Ideal, it's like stormy weather
Two eyed child with his third eye's perspective severed
Heard of blessings, received a curse & wants it tethered
Hates the weights on his consciousness & wants it feathered
Fate states he's never to end with this endeavour
Forever to be displeasured
He's just sought the comfort he so vividly treasures
Taught effort won't make him triumphant, doesn't matter
***-for tat, in tatters, with his hope set to shatter soon
The night sky is his mind & his dreams are the moon

my rose petal lips vanished in the sky,
hazel eyes to stare at moon until they die,
soft skin and a world of consciousness,
my soul keeps breathing,
a light of sunless whims and wishes,
melting disease of tears drowned in euphoria.

The eyes are threads of rivers
flown rapidly through skies

The mind, a straying cricket
sailing leaf-bound as it cries

She loves to smile at them all
cocking her head to the side
teeth sharp, eyes sharper
she's got wit

and the way she walks
long strides, determined
she lost her left eye the other week
she's still looking for it

Lend a hand? she asks
smiling, still smiling
it doesn't look joyful on her
But they help her all the same

now she's got another eye
one green, one brown
and that kid, he's still crying
but what's he crying about?

Blank yellow pages
Empty writing lines
Yet filled with thoughts
A poet at it's finest
A flower, Harnessed by the wind
Inspirational nothing
Words don't rhyme
Everything goes on, except time
My feelings, never fully good
And you'll never see through the eye of a true poet

The Two Halves of the Third Eye

There once was a man,
Who possessed a third eye,
One hundred men called him boss,
One nation called him king,

False plans, built with a lie,
Each loss a flagrant sting,
Social struts, wearily wail,

Beatin’ social berserkers bide,
Biding time to bestow billable babal,
Babal their own perspective truth,
For the mad king employs a social sleuth,

There once was a man,
Who too possessed a third eye,
No one called him boss,
Only of his mind was he king,

Baring witness to chaos,
Hundred men with varied tasks,
Constant change, masks, zero growth,

Prosperous peace is what he quoth,
No qualms from flawed quartz courts,
No screaming in petty squabbles for bill or buck,
Just peace via peace, with a little bit of luck,

A man with sight is always bright,
Closest friends tight,
With height he releases rage and any petty slight,
A man of no flag, field, forge nor foundry,

Opening eyes to let others see,
Hundred men create individual chaos,
Blinding all to divide and conquer,
Winding, twisting, and perverting truth,

Idyllic statues of justice fade and collapse,
More money to fuel the kings greedy relapse,
As long as their is another man with light,
With a sight for people, for people,

For all of the kings *****, ******, might,
People for people will never cease this fight.